The Long Road
by RedSmileyFace
Summary: Sandor has a drinking problem. A problem with drinking blood. Too bad there's no Blood Suckers Anonymous for him to attend. The good news? Sansa. Dark, gorey, some character deaths, vampires, failed rape attempts. Same incident as my "Sweetest Kill" story, with happier results. No, you do not have to read that first, it is more graphic then this one.
1. Sweetest Kill: Redux

**Someone (*cough* Zsra187 *cough*) reviewed on my "sweetest kill" that she was intrigued by the idea of a vampire story, and how she wouldn't complain if I made it a longer story. Well... here it is. Because Damnit! Inspiration happened. Or some shit like that.**

**If you've read Sweetest Kill, this is an alternate ending with a different POV. If you haven't read it, don't worry, it's darker and more morbid then this one, and a one shot; but you won't be missing much. This one is still dark and morbid, but not quite to the same degree. Well... maybe in later chapters. But for now, it's safe (ish).**

**This will NOT be updated regularly, like my other stories tend to (more or less... shut up!). But, I really really really couldn't wait to share. It's dark. It might end sad. I don't know, there's no ending yet...**

**Very little editing as of right now. Forgive my mistakes.**

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"It's getting late!" Joffrey yelled over the loud bass thumping through their eardrums at the bar, "Do you want to go?"

Smiling at his gallantry, Sansa nodded in the affirmative. As he led her with his hand on the small of her back, she quickly thought over the evening: laughing at her daring move to sneak out of her parent's house, blushing at the attentions the older boy paid upon her, cringing at the amount of alcohol she had drunk, more then she had originally planned...

She sighs in relief as the cool night air caresses her face. While dancing and making small talk with Joffrey had been fun, it was getting late and she was tired and warm. Hot from the dancing and from the more then healthy dose of rum running through her veins.

Joffrey hung his arm around her shoulders, and Sansa leaned into him, greateful for his steadying presence. She smirked when she thought upon the next day, mere hours away, already not caring the least about the lack of sleep, for her rewards would be better, much better. She was only a freshman at King's Landing High, a transfer from a small northern town, family steeped in mystery to the southerners. She was unknown and relatively unpopular, yet she had scored the most handsome and popular jock, and he was a _senior_! She couldn't wait to see the faces of her friends.

She giggled, and Joffrey squeezed her closer, laughing along though he didn't know why. He was good like that, indulging her courtesies, after school activities, and fantasies that left her spaced out more then once. It was fair turn, for she had to put up with his own sports schedules, the need for her presence at every game, and his own peculiar brand of temper.

She reached over to rub his stomach, glad he had convinced her out for the night. Relieved that the fake IDs he procured from who knows where worked, and hopeful that no one in her family would ever find out, least of all her mother.

She giggled at that though. Laughter erupting soon after as Joffrey tickled her in turn. Playfully, the traded blows: him with twitchy fingers, her with half-hearted shoves. When he finally stopped, she realized that he had maneuvered her into the alleyway across from where he parked. He grinned at her, and she was captivated by his classic beauty. He leaned closer, and her heart sped up, practically breaking open her ribcage as he kissed her.

It was by no means their first, but somehow it was different. He was demanding, hot, and exploring her in a way he hadn't before. Her lips would be bruised the next day, and that would be a first. But she didn't care, it was delicious! Moaning, she hugged him closer, wanting to kiss a little while longer, pleased at his ardent kissing, even if it was a little sour tasting.

He squeezed a breast, and she allowed him. She may even have liked it. She drew the line at his hand fluttering beneath her halter top: she smacked his hand away, giggling to soften the blow, as if to say, "later, you can touch that later."

They continue to kiss, and his hand rubs her side, as if to assure her his intentions were true. She moans again, arching to him as his kisses continued to thrill her.

His hand caresses her thigh, and she lets him, though in the back of her mind she wishes he wouldn't ruin their good make-out session with far too curious hands in a far too open atmosphere.

When his hand goes to the inside of her thigh, just below the hem of her short skirt, however, she has to break the kiss. "Wait." She whispers, "Not here. It's too in the open."

"The car?" he asks.

"Yes. Please take me home."

He laughs. "I'm hardly going to take you in the room above your parents!"

Furrowing her brow, she replies, "No. Not now, not here, and not tonight. I'm a little tipsy, and besides, I'm not ready for that!"

His face, for the first time in her memory, blazes in fury. She had seen him angry before, but never quite dangerously so. She quails, "Please, Joff, I had an enjoyable night. Please, take me home, don't scare me like that. Don't ruin what a nice night we had. Please..."

"You cock tease!" At her indignant gasp, he just laughs, "Oh, please, princess, what did you think was going to happen? That I would just be happy to have a platonic relationship forever? Or just until you graduate high school? I'll be long gone by then, in college, and this will have been a waste!" He yells in her face.

She slaps him, hard. "Take me home!" She demands.

Slowly, his face turns back to her from when it had turned on her slap. When he faces her, he ignores her tears, her trembling lip, just sneers at her, then backhands her in retaliation, his varsity ring catching on her lip and cutting her. When she cries out, he shoves one hand over her mouth, and grabs a fistful of her hair with his other. "Hear me, bitch, I'll have you willing or no."

Muffled under his hands are her pleas and her begging him to take her home. He removes his hand from her mouth, quickly jerking it to slap her again. She winces and prepares for the blow, closing her eyes against the pain, when instead Joffrey is jerked away from her.

Her eyes are still closed, but she hears a raspy voice address her boyfriend, "You'll not have her at all." And then she hears Joffrey cry out in pain.

Taking a quick breath to steel her nerves, she opens her eyes, and gasps in shock. Joffrey is still in front of her, looming above her, yet his eyes are glazed in fear, trying in vain to see that which holds him. Behind him stands an even taller man, for the most part hidden in shadows. One muscled arm flexes with strength around Joffrey's shoulders as he holds Joffrey to his body. The other arms tenses with the same strength, grasping Joffrey's golden locks between the dark fingers graced with even darker hair, yanking the head to the side to reveal the neck.

But even more strange then the stranger holding Joffrey like so, was the stranger leaning over Joffrey's shoulder, biting his neck, _licking his neck! _Gods! He was a VAMPIRE! Oh Gods! Oh Gods! It was all Sansa could think. Even as she watched the life flicker from Joffrey's eyes, watched thin lines of red form on his neck and stain the collar of his shirt, and then finally latched onto the gaze of the vampire, all she could think was: _Oh gods!_

The stranger, the dark vampire, continued to suck and drain the life out of her boyfriend, and continued to stare at her. She was captivated by his stare: it was angry yet not at her, it was strong and old and... and... would not let her go! She stood rooted to her spot, lips quivering in abject terror; a doe caught in the headlights. Her whole body seemed to grab at the brick wall of the alley behind her, while he stood towering over her, holding her erstwhile boyfriend between them.

Joffrey slowly stopped struggling, at one point passing out; yet the staring contest continued. She wondered if the vampire was waiting for her to do something, to run so he could chase her, or attempt to beat at him, or whatever; but he would not release her gaze, so she stayed rooted to her spot.

The vampire licked the last bit of blood from Joffrey's neck, leering at Sansa as if he'd like to lick her too. She shudders at the image, at once fearful and yet wondering, morbidly, what it would feel like. Joffrey, now dead, is left to crumple ungracefully to the ground. Sansa quickly spared a look at the body, afraid even of the short moment to leave the vampire's eyes, then returned his gaze again, whimpering and cowering in fear that she was next.

She started to lower herself to the ground, as if to make herself into a ball, but the vampire finally moved on her, garbing her shoulders and lifting her up towards him, unbalancing her and causing her to involuntarily crash into him. He seized her with both arms, holding her close, sniffing her.

Shivering in fear, she does nothing to impede him, nothing to help herself, nothing to call for help. She feels him against her, hard, all of him hard. Tears form in her eyes. Perhaps agreeing to Joffrey would have been better. She would have survived that, at least!

The vampire traced Sansa's auburn hair with his nose, crooked and sharp as it was, and then sniffed her neck, which did nothing to soothe her nerves. And then he licked her neck, causing her to whimper, to do something to prevent what was surely unstoppable: "Pl…. pl…ppp…pl…." she stutters.

She feels him looking up from where he was sniffing, looking at her as she stoutly refused to look at him anymore. Surprisingly, though, the vampire gently starts to trace her face, lingering near the bruise Joffrey gave her with his slap; it was a cold hand, but felt nice on her hot injury.

He then grabs her chin and bringing her face towards his. "You should have run." He rasps, "I would have let you."

Gasping, she looks at him in surprise, staring into the depth of grey emotion, unable to work out just what he wants from her. "Shhh… You're all right, Little Bird." He whispers, "So tiny, fearful, fragile… so far from her nest." He caresses her arms, though his hands are far from warm, and grabs her hands in his. Her hands looks so tiny in comparison, yet he handles her delicately, gently placing her small hands upon his broad shoulders, where she feels his coldness, and realizes how stark their temperatures are.

He stares at her, then takes a deep breath again, holding it for far longer then anyone has held his breath around Sansa, and she wonders briefly if he really needs to breathe, dead as vampires are, or if just wants her scent. Is he attracted to her? Could he _want _her in that way? Or is her blood? For the first time since knowing he was a vampire, she wonders if she would survive this encounter. After all, h_e _had just _saved_ her from a rape. Were his intentions more honorable then originally thought? Could a vampire do good deeds?

He looks down at her lips, quivering still, yet as she takes a shaky breath, they slow as he does nothing but stare at her. He looks back at her eyes when she's calm again, and he exhales, slowly, his rank breath of copper and decay do nothing to endear him to her, yet she endures silently. He does not breathe in again, and his own body leans away from her for the first time.

"I won't hurt you." he whispers, just before he leans down and captures her lips. The taste is different the smell is her first thought, more like dark wine then anything else. Her second thought is: _am I really enjoying this? The man who murdered my boyfriend, whose very existence is the stuff of nightmares? _Yet as he sucks upon her bottom lip, and licks at her moistness, she puts up no fight.

And then he leans away from her again, licking at his own lips a smear of blood. Her own blood. She brings a hand from his shoulder to her lips, fingering them, finding the blood and looking at it before returning the vampire's gaze. He smirks at her, rasping, "Delicious."

All to swiftly, fear of death comes full force. He had just enjoyed a taste of her, he would want more: "Don't... don't do this...please, I just..."

He looks at her with anguish, and she trails off. Perhaps he truly didn't mean to drain her dry, and really only paid her a compliment. "I'm sorry." She finished, lamely.

"You'll not have to worry about me anymore, Little Bird, so stop with your chirping." He releases her. Slowly, as if to not startle her. "You smell divine, Little Bird, you've no idea what you do to me." His hand holds her hand last, and he tells her, "I don't kill innocents, though, you have nothing to fear from me."

Just as he's about to let go, she squeezes top retain his attention. "Wait." She says, hardly believing her own words, yet for some reason, she would know more of her strange vampiric savior, "What is your name?"

"What is it to you? Quick now, before I loose all restraint."

Gulping, gathering her resolve, she replies, "I'd know the name of the man who saved me."

He stares at her, incredulous at her request, and she thinks he won't reply, or will have some scathing remark, but eventually, he shakes his head, replying: "Sandor."

"Sandor." Tentatively, Sansa smiles, "I'm Sansa. Sansa Stark. Thank you. For saving me from..." _rape,_ "from him, that is."

He says nothing, only rakes his eyes over her, causing her one last shiver, before he releases her hand and turns towards the shadows of the alley, and out of her life, left intact.

For a few months at least.


	2. The Butcher

**Author's Notes: This is quite a fast update. I don't expect the next chapter to come quite so quickly. Also, there's a lot of background stuff in the first half of this chapter, I'm sorry if it's not as fun to read as the "good stuff". BUT! Let me know what you think!**

**Thanks for all the reviews/favs/followers. :)**

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Vampires were not mythical creatures, they did exist and there was hard proof. There were even training schools for people who wanted to hunt vampires: members of the endangered species list though they were.

Sansa's previous home in Winterfell did have much to do with the undead, preserving the decaying bodies of the zombie nation just north of the border, but vampires were not one of their citizens. Vampires didn't like the cold much: made them turn to blood ice, too stiff to move. Little that Sansa ever paid attention, though, even if some of her family guarded the wall against an invasion.

Even after they had moved to King's Landing, where Vampires were more likely to appear, she had not paid too much attention. But ever since the incident with Joffrey, "vampire" was all she could see/hear/think for the next few weeks. She even looked up on the computer a backlog of articles and reports of local vampire occurrences. She had plenty of time, what with her "post traumatic stress disorder" discharging her from her school duties.

Seemingly, King's Landing, most notably the "Flea Bottom" section, was cursed with a vampire; or blessed, depending on who you asked. According to Sansa's research, Joffrey had been one victim in a long line of such incidents: most others had been charged with a previous crime, or in the middle of one; sometimes both. They ranged from misdemeanors to homicides. A startling percentage of them, spanning ten years of research, revealed that the vampire saved victims of attempted assault/rape.

She thought of the vampire, "Sandor" as he called himself, often. His coldness, his strength, his eyes, the way he talked of restraining himself, and the way he blended into the shadows... she very well could believe all the failed attempts at capturing him were not the police's fault, he was _that _good. He didn't even have to hurt them to get them off his tail. Though they doubled their efforts now to capture him, since Joffrey was the darling son of a prominent family, and she herself was no cheap prize either, Sandor had yet to be cornered, let alone caught a glimpse of.

The police questioned her; once they found out she was the saved victim after running tests on her blood found on his class ring. They called her father up, and he was eager to assist the police, eager despite Joffrey's mother's words that Joffrey wouldn't even hurt a fly.

Sansa had to admit to it all, and it led to more tears then she wished, from herself and her mother. The shame she endured, self brought and inflicted, was hard to bear. But the punishments, they were less then she thought they would be, and the hugs and kisses of her parents, they were the strongest bandages upon her weary soul. Her sister promised to avenge her, despite the fact that Joffrey was no more, and her brothers, as always, made sure to assert their protectiveness.

But ealier, as she sat in the dingy police headquarters answering their inquiries, was when she recalled Sandor's looks and realized how much danger she had been in, without even knowing it. And she had heard some things she never knew before about vampires.

In answer to their questions, she described his eyes, his stature, his strength, and his burns. She blushed when they asked her if she was attracted to him, and though she said no, they told her not to be too ashamed. Vampires, after all, had the ability to attract prey, made them _want _to be near death. More than one vampire slayer fell to their charms...

She claimed she was more fearful than anything else, and they believed her. He was scarred after all: probably negated that special talent. Though one rookie cop, a woman, quipped that the vamp's muscles could probably do it for some; Sansa blushed even more.

A month after the incident, her research slowed to a halt, and she prepared to go back to school. Yet still she noticed the articles in the newspaper. He was not captured; he was not cowed, and continued with his deeds. He killed a college professor this time, as he attempted to do perverted things to a young boy. There's disgust at the world over that, that a smart man with a respectable profession, could fall so far for such... depravity. Then there's a small smile on Sansa's face. Sandor: he was a monster, but only to other monsters.

Another month that goes by and she's almost back to her perky self. Almost. There was one other thing that clouded her happiness from that night: Joffrey. Nothing could erase the sight of seeing Joffrey die in front of her. True, she had conjured every mean thing he had ever done after he died to make herself feel better. But still, she witnessed his death; any death would have done the same. It chills her, and causes her nightmares, no matter how much he may or may not have deserved such.

At times, she remembers their nicer dates, his beauty and gentlemanly behavior, his attentions, his wildness, his promising future. It is those times she hopes Sandor is captured, and when she cries the hardest.

And then one night, Sandor is there. One moment, she's staring into a photo of her and Joffrey; him with his possessive arm around her shoulder, her with a soothing hand on his chest. They laugh, her little sister photo bombs the picture, it covers his rude hand gesture, and Sansa keeps the photo anyway.

Another moment, a shadow falls on the photo frame, throwing Sansa out of her reverie and causing her to gasp. Sandor shoves her to the bed, one hand over her mouth, the other grasping her hip as he leans over her. "Don't scream." he rasps.

She nods, and he slowly releases her. But not before leering at her skimpy clothing, a camisole with short shorts. It was nearing summer after all, and Sansa was used to colder weather...

"Why are you here?" She blurts, stunned that the object of her daily musings has appeared, finally, seemingly out of nowhere.

"Couldn't get you out of me head." He replies, staring at her chest. Abruptly, he turns and looks around her room, stopping every now and then to look at her knicknacks, photos, even her bookshelf.

"I'm… in your head?" She asks.

"Yes. Gods be damned, you ingrained yourself; what with your sweet words, your sweet scent."

There's nothing she can say to that, so she doesn't. Instead, she curls into herself, hugging her legs close and wrapping a bed sheet around her. He finally looks at her again and nods, as if to approve her fear. "Yes, keep the vampire at bay at all costs. He'll hurt you otherwise." He sneers. "I won't hurt you, haven't I said?"

"I know... I mean, this isn't... I'm uncomfortable with you..."

Lifting an eyebrow, he doesn't help her situation at all.

Huffing, she exclaims, "You can't leer at a girl, tell her she 'smells sweet' and expect her to be OK with that!"

Barking a laugh, he nods. "Fair enough: it has been a while since I've talked to a girl, though."

A small smile breaks on Sansa's face, grasping for any normal thing to talk about. "Yeah? How long has it been?"

He thinks about it for a bit, reaching to touch one of her school projects, before he answers, "About a hundred years or so."

Her smile falters. "Oh."

"Yes.'Oh.'"

She contemplates the years he has on her, on any living being, probably only younger then a turtle, unless he was older, and how ridiculous it is that such an old being would come into a high-schooler's room, a silly girl's room. There was not much they could talk about.

"Why me?" she finally asks.

He looks at her, then away, going to the window again and breathing in the night air from outside. She recalls how he had once breathed in a lungful of her scent. Before she can blush at the memory, he answers her, "That night. You thanked me. You wanted my name. You were so close to dying you didn't even know it, and yet you thanked me for your life and you wanted my name." He grabs her windowsill, his knuckles going white, and he leans his chin to his chest. "I have been thanked. Rarely, but it's true. There have been other women, beautiful and sweet smelling, it's true. But no one, not one, has ever asked for my name."

He turns towards her again, and slowly stalks closer again. "I saved a boy recently. I didn't get the same satisfaction saving him as I did you. He looked at me in fear, and I had no chance to tell him I wouldn't hurt him, before he scampered away to hide from me. The police came, and the boy's first statement was to mention me, the monster." He reached Sansa's bed, and leaned down again, causing her to fall back, bed sheet opening up around her. As Sandor settled himself over and around her, he continued: "I have been asking myself for years why I do this. Save the worthless, the needy, and the fearful. They'll all die eventually: I am just a butcher after all, and you all are the meat."

As he continues his story, his eyes leave hers, following his hand as he traces her hair and caresses her cheek. "I had a brother once. He made me thus, and I swore never to be as monstrous as he. When the bastard finally died, the reasons to be partial with my meals became muddled and faint, more so as the years went by."

He grasps her neck, not helping her fears in the least, and looks towards Sansa again, eyes blazing in a fury that seemed... lost, as if he were not really there in the room with her. "Perhaps I should just give in to the vampire instincts. They can't catch me. They're all afraid of me. They'd best leave me, or I'd kill them. And you! You _girl_, had best stop being so..." And he leans down further, pinning her down with hands, chest, and pelvis, making his hardened member quite known to her.

"Perfect." He rasps.

She gasps. She doesn't know what to do with this information, with the fact that she's a temptation, or why he believes her perfect. She's just a teenager, trying to earn good grades and make her parents happy. Tears start to fall from her face, and then she's jolted even more when she feels sharp fangs scraping along her neck. Not enough to break the skin, but she shudders in fear.

And arousal: she knows not why, but his member and his teeth awake something within her she hadn't felt since Joffrey had kissed her: wanting. He feels deliciously hard, a promise of pleasure, even as the knowledge of possible death lingers near. She remembers it is a talent of vampires, to lure in their prey.

Surprisingly, she then feels, instinctively, that Sandor had the same ailment, an attraction that he did not want. It is not knowledge, but a tingling sensation: "You won't hurt me." She whispers. At once, Sandor stops his movements. She moves her previously immobile hands from her sides to his chest, and gently pushes at him.

He complies with her body language, just as easily as he could have ignored it, and moves away. "No, Little Bird." he states dejectedly, "I won't hurt you."

And he leaves her for the second time, still alive. Confused and scared, but alive: for a few months more, at least.


	3. Help Me

A new school year has started. Summer comes and goes without hearing anything from her savior, or reading about vampires in the news.

The fear of society passes, and she starts to hang out with her friends again, though it is always daylight and crowded when she does. The fear of boys passes, and she becomes good friends with unlikely candidates, searching for kindness before beauty. (The short Tyrion always making her laugh with his wit; the crippled Willas always making her feel like she exists as he asks her opinions; the effeminate Loras making her feel beautiful as he harmlessly flirts with her.)

A birthday passes, and Sansa is now Sweet Sixteen, as well as "sweet smelling". It makes her smile and wonder if _he_ has passed from her life forever, if she'll never see himagain. Then, all of sudden, she does.

She's studying at her desk when he reaches around to silence her surprise, and holds her to him. Her heart beats fast, fluttering in fear; this is almost exactly how Joffrey was held as he died.

"Little Bird," Sandor rasps, sniffing at her hair, and any doubt about who it is fades away. She calms down a bit, yet he stays where he is. "Help me." He whispers.

Before she can ask how or why, he gently pulls at her, maneuvering her to stand, pulling her closer with her back flush to his chest. "I ran away." He tells her. "I fled to Essos. I had my fill. And do you know? They were all thieves and murderers: scum of the earth." He keeps his one arm around her shoulders, using the other to pet her hair, to move it aside and then yank, forcing her to present her neck to him.

"I met a slayer." He kisses her neck, right at the pulse point, and she grabs at his arm, whimpering. "And all of a sudden, it did not matter who I killed, only that I did." He licks her; she jerks, ineffectual as it is, and he hardens his grasp.

"I fought for my life. I won." He scraps his teeth along her neck again, jutting his hips forward and trapping her between the desk and him, making her aware just how aroused he was no matter how many layers of cloth separate them. "I went for my reward." His arm around her shoulders moves down, caressing her collarbone just above the hem of her tank top, "She was a strong slayer, she was a worthy warrior, she was my blood type," he cupped a breast over her shirt and bra, squeezing and chuckling darkly at her moan. "She never asked who I killed, if I was repentant, she did not know me nor had any desire to do so: no mercy for the vampire... So no mercy for the slayer..."

Sansa is unable to fight the feelings arising in her body: the flood of lust fueled by her inexperience, his hunter's lure; the feelings of fear that ebbed beneath the flow, that he truly meant to devour her in the truest sense of lovers and hunters, the fear that even if he did intend for her to live, he'd go too far.

Yet she still thought to know why he was here. Her curiosity, all but buried beneath the torrent, still lingered because of his words. He sounded... desperate... despite the story he was telling her, the cold way he spoke. "What..." She breaks into a moan as he snakes his hand down her stomach, tries again, "What do you want of me?"

"Ah, yes," He rasps against her neck, "I asked for help, didn't I?" He fingers the hem of her shorts, glides over them and down. "I did not claim my reward from the slayer bitch. She lives. The reason... still eludes me. Remind me."

He cups her womanhood over her pajama shorts, causing her to cry out in surprise. Her brain is muddled, yet she remembers once he had told her his rule, and grasps at the straw: "Innocents!" She gasps out, and when he stills his hand upon her crotch, she tells him, "You don't hurt innocents." His hands, both, lose their intensity; though seem reluctant to let go. He travels along her side with one, raising it up and around her waist. The one in her hair lets go, causing her to sigh in relief, almost purring as he cradles her head gently, soothing the sting of pulled hair. "You won't hurt me." She murmurs, almost unaware she's said it.

"No." He confirms, "I won't." He kisses her neck, and she hums appreciatively, closing her eyes in enjoyment, hugging the arms that hug her. "Don't be afraid, Little Bird." He whispers.

She opens her eyes, wants to ask _what_? Then, _OH! _She flexes her fingers against him, digging nails into unfeeling skin, yet the sharp sting on her neck quickly fades to a burn as he removes his fangs. Warm liquid falls down her neck, which Sandor laves at, a cold tongue upon her fevered neck. Her eyes flutter close again, blood pounding in her ears and warmth spreading from her chest up to inflame her cheeks.

Sucking at her neck, once, he groans behind her. "So good." He rasps, grasping to uphold her tightly as she loses the will to stand, knees buckling with the loss of iron. Chastely, his kisses her neck once more, licking a final time, telling her she's delicious. Slowly, he releases her, twisting her around and lifting, knees and neck supported by strong arms, and he carries her across the room.

She looks up to him for the first time that night. The sight of her blood dripping from his lips shock her, but his eyes, dark and brooding, hold no malice towards her. Instead, they look dead: he is fading from the world. She feels the urge to help him, as he had once done for her, to show him that there were still reasons within his life worth fighting for, worth remembering. She didn't know what they were, she was still learning them for herself, but perhaps she still could help, in some small way.

Reaching up, she fingers his scars: he lets her. "Don't forget. Please, Sandor, don't forget about the innocents, about your honor. You aren't a monster you're a man. You are a good man."

He stays silent for a while, body standing still and eyes boring into hers. "I'm loosing..." He rasps, he chokes, he begs. "I'm failing...I... I don't know how..."

Sansa shushes him. It feels right, to comfort him; though later she will spend days wondering at the power she has over him: the power to help him, or damn him. The power to redeem, or ignore; his future lay in her hands.

"It's OK," she whispers, even though they both know it is far from such. "Come to me. When it gets too much, too hard: visit me. I won't ... I won't shun you."

"You don't know what you ask, Little Bird." He growls, anger seeping in a bit again, "What happens if I do fail, and come to you afterwards? What then? Will you truly not judge me? I'm a vampire; it is only a matter of time before I give in, all the way, and then you'll just be another victim." He more or less tosses her down to her bed, stiffly standing at the side in fury.

"No," Sansa whispers with an edge, refusing to back down, "I won't."

They stare at each other, and then he nods at her determination. "We're both fools." He muses, "But better fools then monsters."

Kneeling beside the bed, he caresses her neck, right where he bit her, and leans down for a proper kiss. Again, he tastes of a sour dark wine, even if the smell is much worse; Sansa leans up willingly into the kiss, opening her mouth and battling tongues with him. In some ways, it is a more heady feeling then when she was losing blood: he is dominant, bruising; always nipping at her lips or tongue, then sucking the bite afterwards, soothing the hot pain. More then one moan of hers fills the silence of her room, yet he never goes further then kissing her mouth, or caressing her face.

With a last swipe of his tongue, he releases her, placing his forehead upon hers and fingering her cheek as if it were breakable glass; "We will try your way." He growls, a hint of his restraint breaking through, before leaving her, the night reasserting itself as life continued, uninterrupted, for a few days more.


End file.
